


Le Ciel

by MaximumCerulean



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom, Burlesque AU - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Burlesque, F/M, I Am So Sorry if I Butcher the Language, I'm Not From Paris and French Is Not My First Language, Paris Night Life, Romance, french stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumCerulean/pseuds/MaximumCerulean
Summary: A group of strangers meet in a high-class bar in the heart of Paris. From the smoky scent of the bar and alcoholic drinks, these people find something that would make that one night in Le Ciel memorable.There's a reason why Paris is dubbed "The City of Love".
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, I am bad at describing summaries.

It was a beautiful day. Tyrone had just arrived in Paris and today, his best friend decided to take him around the city.

They drove through the Arc de Triomphe and looked around the beautiful architecture of the Notre Dame. The violets in the park near the historic church were in full bloom and reminded Tyrone of cherry blossoms in Japan, a country he had visited months prior.

The cafes of the city were nothing short of his expectations. They were quaint and the ambiance of each one was definitely what he expected of a French café. The coffee and the hot chocolate were to die for, as well as the pastries.

When evening arrived, Alex had instructed him to dress up in his suit and tie.

Not really knowing what his friend had planned, he obliged. He packed up a dark blue suit and paired it with a striped necktie. He wore a white button-down shirt underneath a dark blue jacket. His leather shoes shined and his clothes were iron-pressed to smoothness. He felt like he was overdressed and was going to a prom or something.

However, when he exited his room, those feelings were washed away when he saw Alex.

The other male was dressed up similarly except his suit was more black and sleek. He had a gold pin on the lapel of his blazer. Everything he had on looked tailor-made to fit him (which it probably was). His usually windblown jet-black hair was slicked back neatly. In other words, he looked like a million dollars.

“Where are we going?” he asked, fixing the cuff links of his jacket, consciously. They walked to Alex’s parked car just outside the place they were staying at.

Alex only grinned at him. His deep blue eyes gleamed with playful mischief that made Tyrone swallow. “You’ll see. We’ll end your tour in Paris with this.” With that, he turned the ignition of his car and they sped off into the city.

* * *

“I apologize for my mistake,” Milo said, bowing to his colleague. “It seems my secretary failed to make a reservation. I’m sorry.”

Sylvia waved a hand daintily. She was disappointed, of course. She had dressed up in a nice, purple, velvet gown. A lilac gossamer scarf wrapped around her neck. Since the design of her gown showed off her shoulders, the scarf can serve as a shawl if she got cold. Her honey-blond hair was plaited over her shoulder. She hadn’t known Milo Quinton Saber for so long, so she needed to make a good impression.

“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” She paused, adjusting the sling of her purse. “We could discuss business over a glass of wine?”

Milo sighed. He didn’t have a choice. It was his mistake, so he had no choice but to comply with what the lady suggested. He was also dressed up for this meeting- a tan suit and tie. His brown leather shoes were also polished to sheen. His blond curls were combed neatly. He pulled at his sleeve to check the time.

It was still eight in the evening and the city of Paris did live up to its name of being “the city of lights”. It was a beautiful night and maybe grabbing a drink or two with his beautiful colleague could help seal the deal of this meeting.

“A friend of mine had mentioned a bar here in the city that serves good drinks and is overall private. Would you be alright with that, miss?”

Sylvia gave him a honeyed smile. “Why, yes. That would certainly be alright.”

Milo bowed for a moment before opening the car door for her. He, then followed inside and sat next to her in the backseat.

_ “Monsieur to Le Ciel, s'il vous plaît,” _ he said to the chauffeur. ||“Mister to Le Ciel, please.”||

The driver glanced at the two of them through the rearview mirror, questioning them for a split second before shrugging. He was just to drive after all.

* * *

Silver adjusted his tie around his neck, making sure he looked presentable. He watched as people dressed in their best clothes- gowns, dresses, and suits- exited their private cars and entered the bar.

He had only managed to sneak in twice before and he had to blend in if he didn’t want to get thrown out. This bar was where rich people came to play, he had heard, and he had seen it for himself. The last time he managed to sneak his way in, he bagged several euros and an expensive watch from an unsuspecting victim.

“Like they would miss a few bills and a watch,” he grumbled to himself in French. He looked at himself on the glass window of the shop he was standing in front of. He stol- er, borrowed this suit from someone in the building of his apartment. It was smokey gray in color and smelled like freshly washed laundry (it initially smelled like cigars and Silver found it sickening so he gave it a quick wash). He wore a bright yellow shirt underneath the jacket and polished his old leather shoes.

He fixed his spiky, gray and black hair as best as he could before winking to himself.  _ Parfait.  _

He straightened his posture and crossed the street. He waited for a group of people to enter the place. He kept a close distance to a group of four people- close enough for him to be mistaken to be a part of the group, but still enough distance that the group wouldn’t be suspicious or aware of his presence.

Smoke and music wafted from the doors. He smiled. To him, it smelled like money.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrone’s jaw dropped when Alex’s car parked outside a seemingly humble bar. He adjusted his glasses as he read the cursive neon blue lights that glared down at him.

_ Le Ciel. _

He could hear soft music playing inside. He couldn’t see much through the door since the interior was dimly lit. “Alex? Are we in the right place?”

Alex smiled. “Of course, we are. Come.” He checked his head, a gesture that said, “Follow me.”

The albino had no choice, but to silently follow his friend.

The inside of Le Ciel was indeed dark with dim blue lights situated in the walls. The lights overhead were turned off and most of the tables and seats were occupied save for a few. The air was a mixture of smells- cigarettes, alcohol, and some fragrant flowery perfume. There was an empty stage in front of the room and as he looked up, Tyrone could see another floor overlooking the stage.

“Alex, what is this?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Alex only gave him that crooked grin. The kind of grin that would make anyone think that that pretty face was up to no good. He led him onto one of the empty tables that was near the front.

The tables were covered in dark blue silk tablecloth. A white and blue rose in a vase was the centerpiece of each table along with a table napkin holder. The people occupying the other tables and the bar stools were all dressed similarly to them- in expensive-looking suits and dresses.

“I don’t think we should be here,” Tyrone said once again, settling down beside his friend.

“Relax,” Alex finally replied. “This is all legal. You won’t get in trouble with the authorities and I’m not going to make you leave Paris without experiencing a burlesque evening.”

“A what?”

“Have you seen Moulin Rouge?”

“No?”

“Oh, wow,  _ mon ami _ . You need to be educated!” He laughed lightly. “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as you think. Think of it as… a variety show. Just sit back and enjoy it.” He handed him a menu. “They serve food here, too.”

_ “Qu’est-ce qu’on va boir ce soir ?” _ a female voice said, next to them.

Tyrone looked up and was face-to-face with a beautiful lady. She had long midnight black hair with streaks of blue through them. Some of her hair, particularly the blue streaks wove with her black strands, however, while the rest of her hair flowed down behind her shoulders. On top of her head was a black bowler hat. In her hand were a notepad and a pen.

His cheeks reddened when she saw how she was dressed up. Her top was modest enough- a long-sleeved button down with a leather corset that wrapped around her waist. Her skirt, however, was another story. It was made of the same leather material as her corset and was so short it covered only her mid-thighs. Her toned, smooth legs were wrapped in fishnets. She wore knee-high leather boots with at least two inches of heels.

“Um…” He felt his skin crawl at how intense her gray eyes looked.

“Maxine!  _ Ma reine! _ ” Alex greeted cheerfully.

“You!” the waitress said in a less cheery tone. She, then went on a tirade of French that Tyrone couldn’t understand. Though he was sure some of her words were unkind.

“I missed you, too,  _ ma reine _ !” Alex said, still smiling like an idiot. He took one of her hands and gave it a kiss. He looked her up from head to foot. “I didn’t know you work here.”

She chewed on her lip before glaring down at Alex again. “It’s only for tonight,” she replied.

Alex smiled.  _ “ _ Never mind that _. Laissez-moi vous présenter à un ami cher à moi!” _ He gestured to Tyrone. “This is Tyrone. My best friend! He’s from America!”

Tyrone gave her a silent nod. “Hi. Tyrone.” He held out a hand for her to shake.

Maxine gave Alex a look of displeasure. Grudgingly, she took his friend’s hand and gave it a soft shake. “ _ Je suis Maxine _ . Nice to meet you.” She withdrew her hand from his and held her notepad. “May I take your order,  _ messieurs _ ?” she said in a practiced sweet tone.

“A bottle of champagne please, _ma reine_ ,” Alex said, closing his menu. “And a plate of  _ steak frites _ .” He turned to Tyrone. “What about you, Xen?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he replied, closing his menu, as well. He had a vague feeling the waitress didn’t like him too much.

Maxine jotted their orders on her notepad. “Your orders will be served in a while. The show will start in thirty minutes, so please sit back and enjoy your evening.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The singer's song is "Coup et Blessures" by BB Brunes

Sylvia didn’t expect Le Ciel to be what it was. No, sir.

At first, she thought it was just some classy pub that valued dim-light as its aesthetics. Everyone inside the bar was dressed up the same way she and Milo were. That added to her complacence. They took the empty table a little bit near the front where there was a platform that was dark. She suspected it was for some live band that would perform music later on.

The evening was also going well. They ordered a bottle of wine and some _hor’s d’ouvres_ to eat while they talked. The soft hushed tones of the people made it conducive for private discussion. She didn’t give the borderline sexy uniforms of the waiters and waitresses much thought. ‘Maybe it was just a French thing,’ she thought to herself.

Imagine her shock when the stage suddenly lit up and a fog machine covered the floor with mist.

“I didn’t expect this place to have a live show,” Milo said, sipping on his wine.

“That explains the stage,” Sylvia muttered, swirling her wine in her glass.

Then, all of a sudden everything went dark again and the soft music that played fell silent. A bright spotlight from above focused on a lone person that wasn’t there on the stage just a while ago. It was a tall male dressed in a suit. However, his tie and the first buttons of his shirt were undone, teasing a bit of his smooth chest to the audience. His trousers and blazer were a dark shade while the shirt he wore was a dark maroon. His untied tie hung loosely on either side of his neck. People could see a glimpse of suspenders underneath his jacket.

His face was handsome and smooth. A small red glittery heart was painted just beneath his left eye. The clothes he wore- despite being on the formal side- were rumpled. His dark red hair was unruly as if he had just rolled out of bed… _Someone else’s bed._

Sylvia felt herself blush when the male’s sky blue eyes fixed on her for a second. She got her fan from her purse and used it to cover her flushed face.

Soft music played from unseen speakers and after a few bars, the male started to sing in the most beautiful, seductive voice she had ever heard in her life.

 _“200 watts… En paire de bottes…”_ he sang deeply. _“Délicate et désinvolte…”_

The audience cheered upon hearing his voice. He was obviously a crowd favorite and there were even some women calling out his name. _“Amant Rouge”_.

Sylvia resisted the urge to shush everyone just so she could hear him clearly. The song was familiar to her since she heard it on the radio that day, but this version was slower, acoustic, somehow more seductive than the original.

 _“C'est pas des cracs…”_ Was it her imagination or was he looking her way? _“Quand elle me sourit…”_ His lips curled into a bright smile when their eyes met. It was a cheerful smile, but it looked dangerous with the glint of his eyes.

He walked down from the stage, the spotlight following him. _“Je me détraque… À coups d'insomnies…”_

Sylvia averted her gaze, focusing on the _hor’s d’ouvres_. She thought maybe if she took her attention away from him, he would ignore her.

No such luck.

The handsome singer had sauntered up to their table. The bright light of the spotlight made him look ethereal and unreal, like a seraphim. He smiled at her, as he sang and got a rose from the vase and handed it to her.

Sylvia looked over to her companion who looked just as frozen as her. She warily took the rose from him, still covering the lower half of her face with a fan.

As if taking that as an invitation, the redhead took her free hand and pulled her up to her feet.

Sylvia tried to protest, but the spotlight was suddenly on the both of them. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. The people cheered at this spectacle and she had a feeling, if she refused any further… Well, she didn’t want to cause a scene.

Her face still feeling hot, she let the singer lead her onto the stage. A stool was set in the middle and he gestured for her to sit on it, while still keeping his voice even and melodious. How she wished she understood more French so she knew what he was singing about.

 _“200 watts… En paire de bottes…”_ he sang after the first chorus. He stood behind Sylvia and touched her plaited hair. He wasn’t even touching her skin, but it sent goosebumps across her shoulders. _“Délicate et désinvolte…”_ He must have noticed how her skin crawled so he blew warm air on the nape of her neck.

Sylvia trembled, which made her catch herself. What was she doing? With the bright light of the spotlight, she could barely make out anyone’s face in the crowd. It felt like she was alone with the singer in the room.

 _“Les yeux flous… Elle semble si loin de tou…”_ The male went to her front kneeling in front of her and took her hand. He placed it on his cheek and leaned into it, the way a puppy would to its master.

This made Sylvia bite her lip. Her stomach felt funny all of a sudden and her chest felt fluttery inside.

 _“Quand elle me fait la moue…”_ He got to his feet and walked to one side of the stage, leaving her momentarily. _“C'est tout mon cœur qui bout, houhou”_

She turned her head to see what he was doing and almost squealed.

The singer took off his jacket. He leaned over to someone’s table and handed it to an adoring audience. Oh, he knew how to please a crowd.

The singer walked back to where Sylvia sat and went behind her again. Her back was pressed against him.

 _“Tu me plaques comme une affiche au mur… Je porte plainte pour coups et blessures…”_ he sang softly against her ear. This sent pleasant shivers down her spine.

She let out a yelp when he wrapped his arms around her. She was too stunned to react and her heart drummed in her ears.

His warm hands travelled from her bare shoulders down to her hands. There, he intertwined his fingers between her digits. He moved the hand that was holding the fan and the rose away from her face, not enough for the audience to see her features, but only for him to see her. While her empty hand rested on her thigh.

_“J'étais a deux doigts… De finir fou de toi… Fou de toi…”_

Sylvia took in a sharp breath as she realized how close his face was to hers. His chin rested on her shoulder. He had a really nice pair of eyes, the color of the summer sky. His features were sculpted like that of a statue of a Roman god’s. He smelled like anise spice and roses, which she found strange, yet intoxicating.

He smiled at her stunned expression, showing off his pearly whites. He controlled her hands- her left still holding up her fan to her face, while her right hand touched her torso. His fingers merely brushed against her abdomen, but to Sylvia, it was easy to imagine that it was his hand instead of hers.

_“Tu me traques et surplombes de Paris à Hong Kong…”_

She held her breath as his and her hand travelled up her torso. She wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t shake herself out of his hold. It wasn’t like he was holding her firmly. On the contrary, his touch was gentle. She just… didn’t want to.

_“Tu m'attaques et je tombe, l'honneur blesse…”_

Sylvia almost sighed of relief when their hands stopped just below her chest, but a small part of her was disappointed. She chided herself at this thought.

The singer also withdrew his hands and his embrace from her. He continued his song, while walking around her in circles and then going to the audience.

She watched him entertain them by waving at the audience, while occasionally leaning over a table and winking flirtatiously at a female (or male) customer. He looked so playful, yet dangerous, like a wildfire just spreading out in a forest.

By the time he went back to the stage, the song was close to finishing. His eyes fixed on Sylvia. Drops of sweat gleamed on his face, neck, and chest. He repeated the last two lines of the song. “D'y laisser tout mon bras…” He knelt down in front of her, casually taking the rose he gave her out of her hold. _“Tout mon bras…”_ He pressed the flower against his lips, whilst keeping his burning gaze at her.

Sylvia was silent as she received the rose once again from him. The audience clapped at his performance and judging from their reaction, everything he did wasn’t strange.

 _“Veuillez vous lever, princesse,”_ he said, slightly out of breath. When she gave him a confused look, he switched languages. “Please stand up, princess.” His French accent laced his words. He offered his hand to her. “We both need to bow to our audience for our performance, _non_?”

He smiled once again at her.

Sylvia took his hand and got to her feet. Everything seemed so surreal. The audience cheered louder when she looked their way. Some threw roses their way.

 _“Merci beaucoup, princesse,”_ the singer said, bowing to her. “You’ve been a wonderful muse.” He bent over and kissed the back of her hand. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” He gave her a wink before gently helping her down the stage.

Sylvia sat back down next to Milo who looked equally speechless.

“Well, that was… different,” he said, breaking the silence between them.

On the stage, the redheaded singer disappeared and a new set of performers in cabaret costumes had replaced him.

Sylvia cleared her throat and drank the rest of her wine fast. She grimaced at the taste. “We speak nothing of it.”

Milo chuckled. This was the emotions he had seen Sylvia show. The flustered expression and the embarrassment- it was refreshing to see her not so… in control. “Of course. Would you like another drink?”

“Yes,” she said without missing a beat.


	4. Chapter 4

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’?” Tyrone asked, finishing his fries. He took note that the French for “French fries” was “frites”. He dipped them in vinegar, which was weird. “Do they have ketchup here?”

“I’m sure they do.” Alex raised a hand and someone, dressed similarly as Maxine came. They had a small exchange in French and shortly after, they came back with a bottle of ketchup.

“Oh, thank god,” Tyrone sighed. “ _ Merci! _ ” He poured ketchup over his fries and ate them satisfyingly.

“What’s wrong with the vinegar?” the raven asked.

“It’s… weird for my American palate.”

Alex nodded, as if this explained everything. He clapped. “So, what did you think of that?” He gestured at the stage. The first performance had just finished and the second one, a group of female dancers went on stage while one singer stood at the front.

“It was…” He swallowed his fries first before downing his glass of champagne. “I actually don’t know what to think.” Sure, he liked how the dude sang, but the rest of the performance made him feel like he shouldn’t be watching.

“It’s pretty good, right?”

“Um…”

“Oh.” He paused. “You might not have appreciated Amant Rouge because you don’t swing his way. Don’t worry! There will be female performers later. There’s this one girl. She’s really beautiful and her voice is really amazing. Maybe you’ll like her-”

“Do you come here for those kinds of shows?” Tyrone interrupted his friend.

Alex sipped his champagne, before pouring himself another glass. He was silent for a long while. He kept his eyes on the stage, but the faraway look in them suggested that he wasn’t really watching. “Partly, but I have other reasons for coming here.”

His tone was serious, which was unlike his mood earlier.

Then, his lips curled up in a grin again. The serious mood had evaporated. “But tonight, my main purpose here was to show you this side of Paris. The dancing, the singing, the entertainment! I know there aren’t a lot of places like this in America.”

“Yeah…” Tyrone said. This time, it was his turn to sip his champagne. The clubs he knew about were definitely sketchier and showier compared to this, which has sing-and-dance performances, but he doubt he would go to places like this back home, if there were any.

Of course, he wouldn’t say that in front of Alex.

His head started to ache from the blaring lights and the loud music. Maybe it was the culture shock setting in. He needed a little time away from the stage. They were a little too close to it for his taste.

“I’m going to get a drink.” He got up from his seat. He brushed whatever French fry crumbs fell on his slacks. His plate was already cleaned up (the steak was good. As expected of French cuisine).

“You don’t like the champagne?” Alex looked concerned. “We can get something else!”

Tyrone gave him a small smile. “No need. You just finish up the champagne. I’ll just grab something from the bar.” He patted his friend reassuringly on the shoulder. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. Jet lag and culture shock was just really strong. “Be right back.”

He made his way to the back, mumbling his apologies to the people, whose view of the stage he obscured. He slouched his shoulders as much as he could, trying to make himself smaller. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs by the time he reached the bar. It was situated at the far side of the club and was quite some distance from the stage.

There weren’t a lot of people there (maybe because everyone wanted front-row seats to the show), which was fine with Tyrone. He needed some time to think.

The bar was maybe around ten feet long with more or less 8 swivel stools. The whole wall behind the bar was lined with different kinds of liquors and garnishes. Martini glasses hung upside down from a rack and Tyrone was sure there was a room behind the bar, probably for the kitchen or more liquor stock. The small nook was lit up just enough for the bartenders to do their work.

Tyrone took the stool on the farthest side and buried his head in his hands. The music was still loud, but it wasn’t as loud from where he and Alex sat earlier. This was fine.

_ “Qu’est-ce qu’on va boir ce soir ?” _

He looked up, slightly panicked. He adjusted his glasses to clearly see the figure standing behind the bar.

She was around his sitting height, if not an inch or two shorter. She was dressed up the same as Maxine and the other waitresses- a long-sleeved button-down white shirt, a black leather corset around her waist, and a small bow tie on her neck. However, she donned fitting leather shorts instead of a skirt and wore dark high-knee socks and leather shoes. Her short, ginger hair was tied up in small twin braids and a corduroy beret rested on her head. The way it settled fashionably haphazardly made Tyrone think hairpins were keeping it from falling off.

_ “Qu’est-ce qu’on va boir ce soir ?” _ she asked again. Her voice was soft. Her emerald green eyes seemed to glow from the neon lights behind her.

“Um…” Tyrone tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling like the whole place was heating up. Was the air-conditioning busted? “Sorry. I, ah, don’t speak French.”

Both her eyebrows raised in understanding. “Ohhhh… Tourist? American?” she asked. With her French accent, her words sounded cute to his ears.

He mentally slapped himself.

“Y-yeah. I’m American.”

The bartender smiled. Tyrone noticed she had a splash of freckles across her nose. “ _ Oui _ , Monsieur American. What would you like to drink?”

“Um… beer?”

“Just beer?”

Tyrone suddenly felt like he should order something more complex than beer. He felt his face getting hotter. “Um… I’d like one of those.” He pointed to the person sitting three stools away from him.

The person was drinking something shockingly blue and in Tyrone’s panic, it was the first thing that caught his eye.

“Ah,” the bartender said, scratching her chin.  _ “Attendez un instant, s'il vous plaît."  _ She turned her back around and started gathering two bottles from the shelf. She set them in front of Tyrone and went to look for a tall glass.

He watched her mix a blue-colored liquor and something that was clear into a steel container. Then, she proceeded to shake the steel container with both hands to mix. After that, she set the steel container on the countertop and poured what looked like clear lemon-lime soda into the tall glass she procured earlier with ice. Lastly, she added the blue mixture and stirred it gently until the whole glass was colored blue.

Tyrone watched her work. Her dexterous hands were clearly trained and he found himself mesmerized with her movements. He blinked when the glass was set in front of him with a straw.

“It tastes better with a straw,” she assured him.

Tyrone didn’t know how a straw could make the drink better, but he wasn’t going to argue with the bartender. His eyes widened at how sweet the drink was. It almost tasted like a sweeter, more citrusy version of Sprite, but there was also a sharp, minty taste that felt soothing as it went down his throat.

“Woah.” He blinked and sipped the drink some more. “This is good! What is this?”

“It’s loosely based on  _ Princesse de glace _ , the drink you pointed to earlier, but I changed it a little because you ordered beer first and thought you like the, um, what do you call those little circles… those… popping…”

Her face scrunched up as she thought of the English word for what she was thinking of.

“Bubbles?”

The bartender snapped her fingers. “Bubbles!  _ Oui _ ! Instead of using more mojito or vodka, I changed the recipe and added lemon-lime soda. Does it taste good?”

Tyrone nodded. “It does!” Then, her words sank in. “Wait… you mean you’ve never tasted this?”

The bartender shrugged. “It’s my first time making that.” Then, she held both hands up and waved them around. “But I know what the liquors I mixed tasted like and thought it wouldn’t be bad if I added soda! I’m sorry!” She bowed her head in apology.  _ “Je suis désolée!” _

The albino shook his head. “No, no. You don’t have to apologize! This drink is good!” He held it out to her. “Here. Take a sip.” 

The girl raised an eyebrow at his offer.

Tyrone jolted, upon realizing what he just said. “Sorry. Was that too weird?” He slid the glass back to him, but the girl’s hand stopped him.

She gave him a warm smile, which made Tyrone’s chest feel warm, as well. “I’ll take a sip.  _ Un instant. _ ” She reached for something underneath the bar top and came up with a straw. She put it in Tyrone’s glass and sipped from it.

She pulled away, nodding. “Mmm…  _ C’est bon!  _ I should ask Maxine if I can add this to the menu.”

Tyrone leaned both arms on the countertop. “Really? Do you have a name for it?”

“Hmm…” The bartender tapped the curve underneath her bottom lip. Her green eyes scanned the room, before landing on Tyrone’s face. “Ice Prince.”

“Ice prince?”

_ “Oui! C’est parfait, non?” _

“It’ll be in English?”

The bartender nodded. “ _ Oui. _ Since I made it for an American guy, why not?”

Tyrone couldn’t help but find her logic cute and amusing. “Well, if you think that’s a nice name for this drink you just made, I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

_ “Oui!” _ Then she mumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushing bright red.  _ “En plus, tu ressembles à un prince de glace.” _

“What does that mean?” Tyrone asked. “Sorry. I only know a few French phrases.”

The bartender sighed in relief when he said he didn’t understand what she mumbled. “It’s nothing!  _ C’est rien! _ ” She switched back to English. “I’m glad you like the drink.”

The albino raised the glass and sipped from it again, making sure he used his straw and not the bartender’s. “I like it. Thank you. It’s not like what I usually get, actually.”

The bartender snapped her fingers. “If you like that, then you will like this.” She picked up two metal cups from behind her and flipped them in midair. She turned one of the cups upside down and tapped it rhythmically on the countertop.

Her arms and hands moved fluidly, Tyrone couldn’t help but stare again. It took him a few moments to realize she was playing the “Cup Song”. Even with the loud music from the stage, it was unmistakable.

He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and stifled his laughter. He watched her end her show by flipping the cup back up and then pouring a green-colored liquid into it without spilling a drop.

Tyrone clapped his hands. It was impressive. Kind of dorky, but impressive. “Bravo!” He laughed. “Bravo!”

The ginger laughed along with him, bowing with a flourish, as if she was the one on stage singing and dancing. Then, she chugged the contents of the cup in one go. This impressed Tyrone even more.

“Merci! You’re very kind!” She put the bottle of the green liquid away and washed the two metal cups behind her.

Tyrone tugged at the collar of his suit and cleared his throat. He set the glass down and mustered all the courage he could. He swallowed and held a hand out to her, once she turned to him. “I’m Tyrone, by the way.”

With how she looked at his hand for more than a second, he expected her to reject it. He’d understand if she did. He must have looked like a creepy American tourist to her. He meekly withdrew his hand back, but the bartender took it and gave it a good shake.

“Korinne.”

Tyrone couldn’t help but smile. His eyes lit up behind his thick-framed glasses. “Korinne,” he repeated. It was the first time he had heard of such a name. It was nice and surprisingly fit her. “Nice to meet you, Korinne.”

Korinne mirrored his smile. In the dim light, her freckles almost blended in with her skin because of how much she blushed. “It’s-”

Then, over her shoulder, her workmate, the other bartender called her name and said something in French. She replied in the same language, before turning back to Tyrone.

Only then did he realize that they were still holding each other’s hands.

_ “Désolé,” _ Korinne said. She gently withdrew her hand from his. “I have to help out with an order.”

Tyrone’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.” He smiled tightly. “Sure! Of course. No problem! Thank you for this… um, Ice Prince.”

The ginger laughed. “ _ De rien. _ I’ll be right back.” She turned on her heel and went to make some drinks for another customer.

Meanwhile, Tyrone’s ears rang. No. It wasn’t because of the loud music of the performers, or the clapping of the audience. He stared at his drink, now having two straws in it. He’d just apologize to Alex for taking too long. “And I’ll be right here.”


End file.
